


You Will Always Be Enough

by Becky_J_1022



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bluesey is implied, First Time, Gansey is literally in this only long enough to be annoyed at Ronan, Hand Jobs, M/M, bed smut, both Ronan and Adam get angry but what's fucking new, car smut, lets be honest with each other, rain smut, slightly angsty?, these two assholes will be the death of me, this is my first fanfic so who the hell knows, this is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becky_J_1022/pseuds/Becky_J_1022
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan can't dream and can't stay in the apartment, and Gansey sends Adam along with him to keep him out of trouble. Adam does not do a very good job.</p><p>Alternate summary: Ronan yells at Adam, Adam yells at Ronan, and Adam decides the best way to resolve this is to kiss Ronan. There are feelings and they spill everywhere. The Barns is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't AU, but I did mess with the timelines a bit. Nothing contradicts canon, but things happen out of order. This fic takes place somewhere in The Raven Boys; however, Bluesey is happening much sooner and Aurora is not at the Barns....basically I took bits and pieces and moved them around. 
> 
> All characters and settings are the sole property of Maggie Stiefvater.
> 
> Also, super special thanks to the best beta fish ever.... Aki, I still don't know what I did to deserve you. Thanks for reading my smut and not letting it be weird (it's not weird, is it???)

Depending on where you began the story, it was about a boy named Adam Parrish. He had been born in the dust and raised in the trees; a boy who spent his days running--not towards anything, but _away_ from everything. 

Adam rode his bike into the dusty, overgrown lot outside Monmouth Manufacturing and allowed himself to rest briefly against the handlebars, his eyes closing. A single streetlight glowed slowly brighter against the darkening evening, casting a warm orange glow across the sharp planes of Adam's face. The summer in Virginia was suffocating, the heat so thick you had to wade through it. Exhaustion and the temperature combined to chase all coherent thoughts from his head.

Part of his problem was his job—or rather, his jobs, as in three of them. _One day_ , he thought, _one day I will work one job like the rest of normal society. I'll come home and make an actual meal and still have time to waste before I have to go to bed. And then I'll sleep more than four hours. And then this will have all been worth it._

Adam sighed. People always thought that he was working so hard for money. Partly, that was true. But the reality was that the true commodity in his life was time, and he ached to have more of it. It felt like he was always thinking about one day, without any actual idea of when that was or what he would do when he found it.

Part of his problem was his father. He had barely escaped the trailer this afternoon with only a glancing bruise across his cheek. It appeared that his father hadn't had the energy to truly throw blows; he had just wanted to remind Adam where he came from, and where he would always belong—in the Henrietta dirt.

The bruises didn't really faze him anymore. These days, Adam found that he could retreat into his own mind, think of their last trip to Cabeswater, and pretend he was there: the shade of the forest, the faint but ever-present whisper of the trees, Blue's sparkling laughter, Gansey's fevered purpose, Ronan's stark grace. It didn't stop the pain, but it no longer took everything from him. No, what truly exhausted him, what drained every last bit of energy he had left after work, was having to watch the pity and anger in his friends' faces when he walked into the apartment with a new color blooming across his face. He had stopped making excuses. Their friendships were not the kind built for lies.

The last part of Adam's problem was Ronan Lynch. 

If Adam couldn't seem to escape his upbringing, Ronan had been thrust from his own without his permission, and had spent the rest of his time taking it out on the world. Dark where Adam was dusty, spinning carefully constructed disinterest where Adam held wild ambition, Ronan was all jagged edges and smiles that felt like threats. Adam sometimes caught himself wishing that he could be like Ronan; maybe if he was, his father would discover that it was never a good idea to hit the sharp edge of a blade.

Adam sighed again. His thoughts slid more and more towards Ronan Lynch, especially when he was tired and found it harder to guard himself against it. And more than anything, Adam was terrified of Ronan Lynch. Adam was terrified of the lingering glances that seemed to burn into his back. He was terrified of what it would mean about him if a boy who craved pain also craved him. And, when Adam could no longer pretend not to hear the whispers in the very back of his mind, he was terrified to find that of all the things he was running from, the predator that was Ronan Lynch was not one of them.

Adam opened his eyes and ran one hand over his head, brushing his hair back from his face. It immediately fell back into his eyes. He tried to shake himself awake a little before letting his bike drop unceremoniously to the overgrown pavement and climbing up to the second floor of Monmouth. Adam lifted the door slightly on its hinges and, after a little wiggling of the handle, allowed it to swing into the apartment. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Depending on where you began the story, it was about a boy named Ronan Lynch. He wore darkness like a second skin but dreamed in the light. He had grown up surrounded by so much love that there was enough of it to cast aside and let gather like dust in the corners. He spent his nights sharpening his edges for the wars he would fight in the morning. 

Ronan couldn't dream. 

While other people seemed to drift into sleep, Ronan tended to pass through that particular barrier like he did everything else: impulsively and violently. And yet, for the past three nights, as he waited for his dreams to take him, consciousness clung to him like a parasite. To Ronan, being denied access to his dreams felt like punishment. What started out as annoyance turned to anger; after the second dreamless night, anger sparked into recklessness. 

He knew Gansey wasn't sleeping either. The miniature version of Henrietta that Gansey had built in the middle of Monmouth was growing at an alarming rate, and Gansey only added to it in the middle of the night when his insomnia kept him from rest. Ronan wondered briefly what Gansey dreamed about when he did find sleep. His obsession with Glendower probably reigned even there, though Gansey had surprised Ronan more than once with his ability to hold far too many ideas in his head at any given time. Maybe, Ronan thought, Gansey's waking life was so magical that his sleep could provide him with nothing more fantastic, and so he dreamed of nothing at all. Ronan shuddered at the idea of empty dreams.

Between Ronan, Gansey, and Noah, Monmouth felt like it housed nothing but the waking dead.

It was early evening, but Ronan was already lying in bed, praying for sleep. He could tell that he would once again be denied. His body was restless, jittery, as if lightning bugs were crawling just underneath his skin. Sleep deprivation, instead of wearing him down, had ignited an all-consuming energy he knew too well. There were very few things that satisfied him when he was like this, and exactly zero of them made Gansey happy. Ronan opened his eyes and glared at the warped beam above him. As carefully cultivated as his apathy was, Gansey was the only person Ronan listened to, the only person who could rein him in. The only person he cared about enough to sheathe his claws.

Well. Not the only person.

And there it was. The reason Ronan couldn't sleep, couldn't dream. No matter how hard he tried to move his thoughts in other directions, eventually, he always circled back to this, a reluctant moon held captive in the gravitational pull that was Adam Parrish.

The fire in his blood flared higher.

Ronan swore, combining words in ways that they probably weren't originally intended. He was nothing if not creative. Unable to lie still any longer, Ronan propelled himself off the bed, still swearing and feeling only slightly better for it, and threw his bedroom door open.

Gansey sat at his desk, unsurprised by the force with which the door hit the wall. Without glancing up from an exhaustingly thick text, Gansey raised his eyebrows in a way that somehow still felt like a scolding. Ronan checked himself. He was looking for a fight, but never here, never with Gansey. After a moment, he strolled over in a deceptively calm stride to lean against the desk.

"Lynch. What do you think about the plausibility of converging energy sources actually hiding Glendower? I always assumed that the more energy, the easier it would be to find him. But maybe it's too much. Maybe there's an overabundance of noise, of magical static in Henrietta. Could it be possible that there's more than the ley line, more than Cabeswater here?"

Ronan smiled, and only a glint of his current volatility showed in it. "Gansey, at this point, I wouldn't be fucking surprised if there was nothing _but_ magic in this goddamned town."

Ronan felt a fiercely protective affection for this Gansey, the one that plowed right into a conversation as if they had been having it before and were merely interrupted. The Gansey who was unashamed and consumed by his quest. Sometimes, Ronan couldn't tell if Gansey was the one who found strange things, or if the strange things just found Gansey. And Ronan, who had no problem believing that anything was possible after the last few years, could see what he meant. The air was charged with possibility, with energy. It felt like a single spark could set the whole valley burning. 

Ronan, who at the moment felt like nothing but sparks held in the vague shape of a boy, thought he might want to test that theory.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adam walked into Monmouth to find Gansey at his desk and Ronan leaning against it. Adam could tell with just a glance that Ronan was about three clicks away from accidentally firing himself and wounding the entire room. Though he was leaning casually against the desk, his frame was taut and rigid, his shoulders rounded as if to protect against an unseen attack. It was a Ronan that Adam had seen many times, and had a few scars to show for it. This Ronan was usually the one who ended up convincing Adam to do something dangerous and wild. Adam, by definition a creature made for survival, tended to avoid danger at all costs. 

Unless that danger was named Ronan Lynch.

"Parrish. Nice of you to join us. Please, for the love of God, tell Gansey what you think about his current theory so he will shut the fuck up about it," Ronan said. His smile was a study in menace.

Adam walked further into Monmouth, and as he approached, he saw Ronan notice the new decoration on his face. The smile slid away like oil, replaced by poorly concealed anger. His hands clenched around the edge of the desk, fingers going white with rage, as he carefully hid the look behind a mask of indifference.

"Fall into your father's fist again, Parrish? You really must be more careful where you walk. Breathe. Exist." 

"Ronan." Gansey glanced up sharply, pinning Ronan with his stare. After a brief and wordless argument between them, which Ronan lost, Gansey turned to Adam. He looked at his cheek for a moment before meeting Adam's eyes. Unlike Ronan, Gansey did not bother to try to hide his anger. But while Ronan wore his anger like a cloak, Gansey wore his like a crown. Adam felt his own annoyance rising, and turned quickly to another subject.

"Where's Noah?" he asked. 

"He wandered into his room about an hour ago, saying something about thunderstorms. That they make his skin itch, or something. Haven't seen him since," Gansey said, with careful politeness. It was a tone that told Adam plainly that Gansey was only allowing the discussion of Adam's current state to be swept away temporarily. Adam glanced in Noah's room, finding it empty and cold. 

"There hasn't been rain in over two weeks, and from the heat out there right now, I doubt we're going to get a storm anytime soon," Adam remarked. Not that time particularly mattered to Noah.

"Maybe being dead comes with the perk of turning you into a goddamn weather vane," Ronan slid in. 

"Is Blue coming over?" Gansey asked.

"No. Maura had an important reading and wanted her there. Since she's skipped out on the last two, Blue thought she'd better stick around for this one so that Maura doesn't suddenly turn into a normal parent and ground her." Adam had called 300 Fox Way before leaving for Monmouth, wondering if he should swing by for her. "She said she should be free tomorrow if we can wait to go to Cabeswater until then."

Gansey made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, trying not to appear disappointed. Ronan rolled his eyes, but Gansey wasn't paying attention. For all his natural talents, Gansey was a terrible liar. He dealt only in the currency of truth and possibility. Really, Adam didn't know why Gansey and Blue were trying so hard to be secretive, when it was apparent to anyone with eyes that they were….something more. Adam suspected it had to do with him, though he hadn't thought of Blue like that in months. Adam glanced quickly at Ronan and then away, hoping it went unnoticed. 

Ronan had apparently had enough small talk. He slammed the palm of his hand down on Gansey's desk with a sharp slap. "This has been fun and all, but since we're not running off after a dead king tonight, I'm going out."

"Ronan." Gansey had constructed an entire language made out of Ronan's name, and this one translated to _don't make me lock you in your room._ "You remember what we talked about last week."

Ronan rolled his eyes again, this time for Gansey to see. "Yes, Father, I remember the stern warning about no drinking and no racing and no Kavinsky." At the mention of that name, Adam felt a stone drop in his stomach. There weren't many things that Adam truly hated, but Joseph Kavinsky was one of them. He told himself it was because Kavinsky was an asshole, and not because Ronan couldn't seem to stay away from him. 

Throwing off a bit of his act, Ronan leaned further over the desk. "Gansey, if I don't get out of here, I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I can't sleep. I can't _dream._ "

Gansey sighed, raising his thumb to unconsciously brush his lower lip. They all knew what torture it was for Ronan to be denied his dreams. They also knew that Ronan was radioactive, and letting him simmer for too long was like storing a bomb in your kitchen cabinet. You never knew when it was going to explode.

"Fine. But I swear to God, Lynch, if I have to come find you in a ditch somewhere, that's it. I'm washing my hands of you."

Ronan's gaze lit upon Adam. A slight thrill raced up his spine under the look, and Adam could see a challenge and a promise in his eyes. Adam sighed inwardly. The last time Ronan had looked at him like this, Adam had ended up clutching the open window of the BMW, barely managing to keep his feet on the old skateboard they had found at the back of the parking lot while Ronan drove in fast circles. He still had a few scabs from that one. Sometimes, he swore Ronan just liked to see wounds on Adam's skin that weren't put there with punches and kicks. 

"Parrish?" The question, from Ronan, felt like a live wire. Adam thought maybe there were a lot of possible answers, and not all of them had to do with their current situation.

Adam looked at Gansey, who took off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his hand over his face wearily. "Adam," Gansey said. Maybe Gansey had a language dedicated to Adam's name too, because this said _please keep him out of trouble. Please keep him safe._ When Gansey spoke like this, it was impossible to say no. It wasn't that Gansey commanded his orders to be followed; it was more that when Gansey asked for something, the very air changed directions to compel you to agree. There was a lot of magic in this part of the world, and Gansey insisted he had none of it. Adam thought that maybe there was more than one kind of magic.

Feigning resignation, Adam turned back to Ronan and nodded once. The smile Ronan flashed at him felt like standing in the path of a throwing knife, one that only barely missed him as it buried itself in the wall behind him.

Adam hadn't felt so awake in days.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ronan didn't know it was possible for leather seats to conduct so much electricity.

He switched smoothly from second to third gear, his blood hot and his heart full. The Henrietta night opened up in front of him, the heat magnifying the smell of gasoline and asphalt. Ronan took it all in, reveling in it, intoxicated. Underneath, he could smell the faint trace of moss and cheap soap—Adam. If possible, his pulse pounded even quicker, jumping against the leather bands at his wrist. 

The bass of his music, playing as loudly as possible without rattling his doors, pumped through his soles, his legs, his hands, until it was indistinguishable from his heartbeat. Everyone seemed to assume that Ronan's music was just another piece of his loud existence, but the truth was that it was as close as he could get to telling the world the essence of being Ronan. It was what you got when you distilled Ronan, removed the impurities and scraped away the layers, refining and filtering until all that was left was desire and creation, dark nights and bright dreams, heat and pavement. It was, in short, Ronan's life force, laid bare.

Ronan felt so, so alive.

Adam leaned his forehead against the passenger window, willing the coolness to spread to the rest of his skin. The summer heat coated him, wrapping around his neck like feverish fingers. Ronan's music bled through the glass, slowly consuming him, coaxing fire into his bones. From the outside, he looked every bit the boy who kept exhaustion as a constant companion. But for once, for one glorious night, he wasn't tired. 

Usually, Ronan's music set him on edge. The volume of it, the violence of it, was often too much for him. He did almost everything quietly, and he was vaguely uncomfortable with the knowledge that they were announcing their presence from two blocks away. But tonight...tonight it didn't feel like giving himself away. Tonight it felt like he and Ronan were kings, the rest of the night their kingdom, and the world should know they were coming.

Adam lifted his head from the window, and glanced at Ronan furtively under his dusty eyelashes. His breath caught in his lungs, painfully solid. Ronan had one wrist resting on the steering wheel, the other tapping to the beat of the music on his gearshift. His tattoo curved around his shoulders and onto his neck, hooking and curling and (Adam could swear it) moving in the glow of the lights flashing past. But what truly captivated Adam, what he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from, was Ronan's face. Ronan was always handsome, in the way that sleek cars and sharp knives are handsome, but there was something so.... other about him tonight. Normally carved of shadows and planes, his face was lit with what, on anyone else, would have been called joy. On Ronan, the emotion looked more like hunger. Adam could feel the energy rolling off him, flickering on Adam's own skin and catching fire. 

Ronan looked over at Adam, and Adam resisted the urge to turn away and avert his gaze. He forced himself to keep eye contact with Ronan, for two, three, four seconds. Each felt twice as long as the last. Ronan smiled, savage and beautiful and alive.

“Aren't you going to tell me to slow down, Parrish? Tell me to be careful, be safe? I'm surprised you've let me go this long. ” 

Adam let his gaze fall to the needle that was gradually pushing 85mph. He should be telling Ronan to slow down. It was why Gansey had sent Adam along, to make sure that Ronan didn't pick a fight with something more solid than him, like a tree or a pole. But Adam, in a very un-Adam-like way, didn't want Ronan to slow down. He wanted to feel the pavement rushing below them, wanted to chase the dark until they found the edges. 

“I guess that depends, Lynch. Are you going to kill us?” Adam asked, feeling bold and young and reckless.

Ronan smiled wider. “Not even close, man. Don't you feel it? This is the furthest from death you can get. Safe as life.” They both grinned at Gansey's familiar phrase. 

Adam turned back to the window to watch the dark landscape sliding past. Ronan was leading them into the mountains, the road starting to curve and bend through the trees. _At least we know he's not searching for Kavinsky,_ Adam thought. Driving fast and driving fast with Kavinsky felt like two completely different acts. Adam wasn't sure why, but he thought it might have something to do with intention.

He could feel Ronan looking at him again. There was something solid about Ronan's looks, something that felt like a breath or a whisper against his back, his shoulder, his neck. This time, Adam didn't turn towards him, instead leaning into the look and allowing it to linger. His feeling of recklessness increased.

There were some nights made for secrets, but this was not one of them.

Ronan took a breath, as if he were going to say something, but nothing came. Adam turned to look at him. There was a crease between Ronan's eyebrows, pulling his face back into the sharp edges it usually held. Adam felt like he was standing on the boundary of something, and if he stepped forward he would never be able to return. Usually, he was terrified of this feeling, always falling back onto safe ground. But tonight, this endless night where both the air and time itself felt heavy, Adam stayed on the ledge, waiting for a push in either direction. 

When Ronan finally spoke, it was on a topic that Adam hadn't been prepared for.

“Why do you stay there, man?” Ronan glanced to Adam, quickly and then away, as if letting his gaze linger too long could harm them both. “You could just walk away. Wash your fucking hands of them. Of him. You know you could come to Monmouth.”

Adam felt his exhilaration swing into anger. Not again. He couldn't have this conversation again. His cheek burned over his most recent bruise, as hot as if Ronan had touched it. Quietly, making sure his Henrietta accent was under control, he said, “You know I can't.” 

Ronan, always nested in a fragile cocoon of rage, let his voice harden into a blade. “What is your fucking problem, Parrish? I don't get it. Do you like getting the shit beat out of you? Is it some kind of pain thing, you get off on it? If that's the case, then I'll tell you there are better ways to get it.”

Ronan spent his life crossing lines, so much that the road behind him was littered with fragments of them. Adam breathed through his nose, trying to control the fury that he could feel coursing through him. He wouldn't rise to Ronan's crude jokes.

“Of course, Lynch. Throw in insults to avoid having actual meaningful conversation. What do you fucking know about it? You're already owned by Gansey. I won't do the same. I can't. I move into Monmouth, that's it, game over. First he buys me one meal, two, three. Then he's paying my rent. Soon it's my tuition, and before I know it I'm his goddamn property, just another anomaly unearthed from the Virginia dirt to show off at parties.” Despite Adam's best efforts, he heard his accent slip into his words, and flinched.

Ronan shook his head, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the steering wheel. “ For the love of God, Parrish. Is that what you think of Gansey? What you think of me? You want to have a fucking conversation? Let's have one. Let's talk about how Gansey would die for either one of us. Let's talk about how we all tiptoe around your fucking principles for fear that we'll trip on them and break you. Let's talk about the fucked-up fact that you would rather stay at your trailer and let your piece-of-shit father toss you around like a goddamn human punching bag than move in with your friends, because you're afraid that you'll owe them. Let me let you in on a secret, Parrish. Love isn't a purchase. It isn't a fair trade. You give it away without expecting shit in return. Do you think that Gansey loves you because he expects something back? Do you think that I—“ 

Ronan stuttered to a halt after his impressive outburst, choking back the end of his sentence. His breathing was ragged and loud. Adam felt the anger from just a moment ago shrivel and disappear as quickly as it had come, the end of the sentence hanging over them both in a cloud of unsaid words and unnamed thoughts.

They were silent for a moment, Adam going over and over the words Ronan hadn't said, and Ronan wondering if time was so fluid on the ley line that he could just reach back and snatch the words out of the air. Getting his breath under control, Ronan rubbed his hand over his head, shoving the remaining air out of his lungs in an exasperated sigh. The shame of the words he almost said burned low in his throat, but he was tired of the shame. He was tired of Kavinsky's suggestive taunting and Gansey's noble ignorance and Blue's knowing looks and Noah's all-seeing gaze and most of all, most of all he was tired of lying to himself. Of telling himself that if he didn't look his feelings in the eyes, he could pretend they didn't exist. He could pretend he wasn't afraid.

“Adam—“ he began, not noticing it was the first time he had called Adam by his first name all night. But before Ronan could finish the thought, before he even knew how to finish the thought, Adam interrupted him.

“No.” 

“What?” Ronan's heart beat a painful tattoo against his chest, and his mind reeled, thinking of all the things Adam could be saying no to. Rejection coursed through him, threatening to overtake him. Ronan itched to pull the mask up, to throw out jagged words and hateful swears that could slice through the tension, but Adam continued.

“That's not what I think of Gansey. That's....that's not what I think of you.” Adam swallowed, hard. “I don't...Friendship is a privilege. Love is a privilege. Like money. Like cars. Like apartments. Don't you understand? I have to earn them. Otherwise, I'm just another charity case begging at the feet of the wealthy and powerful.” Adam turned to look out the window, unable to look at Ronan.

Ronan stared, shocked for the first time. Of all the things he'd thought Adam Parrish might say to him, this was the furthest thing from what he had been expecting. He had to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road, before he drove them both into a ditch. Normally, that risk was part of the fun, but not tonight. Not with Adam.

“Holy shit, Parrish. That's what this is all about. You don't think you deserve love.”

Ronan could see Adam's neck flush even in the dim glow of the dash lights. “That's not what I said, Lynch. That's—”

But Ronan was beginning to understand, and all the restless energy that he had collected through the last three days poured into a single-minded rage. “That son of a bitch. He taught you that you had to beg at the table for any scrap of kindness you could get, didn't he? And what did you think it would take to earn his love, Adam? Did you think that once you were rich, once you had an Ivy-League diploma, that then you would be worthy enough? Did you think that if you were quiet enough, small enough, then maybe, maybe he would fucking respect you?”

Adam felt his own anger stir again too, a sleeping animal uncurling in his stomach. “Stop psychoanalyzing me, Lynch. Stop acting like you know what my family is.”

Ronan sneered. The venom was dulled by the fact that it was not directed at Adam. “No, I know exactly what your fucking family is. And I hate them. Because now you're sitting in my goddamn car and you're telling me that you don't deserve the friends you have. That you don't deserve—Parrish, that's not how any of this fucking works. Out of all of us, you work the hardest for everything. You—don't let that bastard in your head, man. If you spend your whole life thinking you're not enough, he wins.”

“Dammit, Lynch, he's already won!” Adam growled, losing complete control over both his accent and his volume. “My two options are to belong to him, or to belong to Gansey. I've lost. I'll never be enough.”

Ronan pulled over onto a gravel shoulder, tires skidding through the rocks until they came to an abrupt stop. Dust gathered in the beams of the headlights, drifting golden flecks that felt out of place in the night. Ronan was gripping the wheel with both hands, glaring straight ahead at the windshield, nostrils flared, breathing deeply. He closed his eyes and thought of all the things he wanted to do to Robert Parrish for breaking this boy so thoroughly. 

Without looking at Adam, he snarled, “Don't ever say those words to me again.” 

Adam stared. He found himself suddenly terrified of Ronan—somehow, the quiet words were more venomous than any of Ronan's lengthy verbal assaults. You could say what you wanted about Ronan Lynch, but he wielded his weapons well. 

Now Ronan did look at Adam, and his eyes seared a path straight to Adam's skin. “I swear to God, Parrish, if you ever even think those words around me again, I will—“ he broke off. 

Adam heard the words that Ronan said and he heard the words that Ronan didn't say and, after all the pieces were gathered carefully and put into place, what he ended up with was this: _You are already enough. You have always been enough. You will always be enough._

Adam had never seen Ronan so undone, so real. It was like Ronan's edges could no longer contain him. It was as if Ronan Lynch, in his true form, was nothing but raw energy, barely held back by his pale skin. For a strange moment, Adam thought he could see the outline of something else where Ronan sat, as if two slides holding different images were layered over each other in his vision. Light seemed to seep from his skin. Then Adam blinked, and it was gone. 

Adam looked at Ronan, and Ronan looked at Adam, and for the life of him, Adam could find no words to fill the gaping space between them. 

So instead, he did the only thing that felt right and real and true. He leaned over and, with only the slightest hesitation, he pressed his lips to Ronan's mouth.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the smut. I'm fairly certain you're fine with that if you've made it this far, but here's your fair warning.

Ronan thought that he might have finally been dragged unknowingly into a dream, spurred by sleep-deprivation, or that maybe the ley line was fucking with him and had pulled him into an alternate reality. Because there was no fucking way that Adam Parrish was kissing him right now.

It wasn't that it was unfamiliar. In fact, Ronan had dreamed every conceivable way that his lips fit together with Adam's, memorizing their shape and texture and taste. Ronan only froze for a moment before losing himself in the kiss, slowly but firmly pushing back towards Adam so that they were more evenly matched. His hands reached up to graze the side of Adam's face, following familiar patterns that he had perfected night after night. Ronan was surprised by none of this, because this was what it felt like to be home. 

No, what really got Ronan was that he could still smell the moss and cheap soap, and he usually wasn't so accurate in these dreams. Adam kissed him again, with a slight edge of desperation, and Ronan wondered if it was possible to die from want.

Adam opened his mouth slightly and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Ronan's. Ronan opened his eyes to find that Adam's were slightly open too—just enough that he could see a bright slice of iris in each eye, lidded under heavy, golden eyelashes. They shared breaths for a few moments. Then conscious thought finally thundered past the roadblock in Ronan's head that was Adam Parrish's mouth.

He pulled back sharply, retrieving the air that had been temporarily stolen from his lungs. He looked at Adam, the very real, very present Adam sitting next to him in his BMW, somewhere on the shoulder of some unknown road, in the dead heat of a Virginia summer night, and found Adam looking steadily back at him.

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To Adam, on the other hand, this was completely uncharted territory. He, too, wondered if the ley line was playing with him, or if there were just some types of magic that happened without the help of dead kings and Latin-speaking forests. If his time with Gansey and Ronan and Noah and Blue had taught him anything, it was that magic existed everywhere, if you only opened your eyes wide enough to see it.

When the silence had stretched out unbearably after Ronan's outburst, and Adam couldn't find the words that felt right and real and true, he began to retrace the last few months. He thought of all the times he had felt Ronan's eyes on him. All the times he had gone to bed thinking of Ronan, and trying not to, and wondering if Ronan could feel the weight of his thoughts over the distance between them. All the times that he fought with Ronan, laughed with him, despised and idolized him. He thought of how, without knowing when it had happened, Adam had slowly found his own eyes lingering longer than was strictly necessary, tracing the lines of Ronan's tattoo from under the collar of his shirt, catching a glint in Ronan's eye, admiring the long stretch of Ronan's legs as he slid into the Pig.

He thought about how he no longer wondered what it would be like to kiss Blue, and found himself wondering instead if Ronan would taste like gasoline and metal. 

And so, when he finally leaned over to brush his lips against Ronan's, softly, experimentally, he was unsurprised to find that it was the answer to the question Ronan had been asking silently for months.

For a moment, Ronan was stiff and unresponsive. Adam worried briefly that he had misread all the signs, that Ronan would pull back and ruffle his spines and spit venom at him. But then Adam felt the moment that Ronan came crashing back into himself, his shoulders loosening, tension draining from his posture, his lips matching Adam's. Ronan moved forward, forcing Adam back towards his own seat, centering them in the middle of the car. 

Ronan didn't taste like gasoline and metal; he tasted like Henrietta summers and leather.

He felt Ronan reach up and brush his jaw, his touch light and unquestioning. Like they had done this before. Like they had always been doing this. And as Adam kissed Ronan again, he thought that maybe, in time's circular way, they had.

Adam, in an attempt to catch his breath, leaned his forehead against Ronan's. He hadn't closed his eyes when he had kissed him, wanting to watch the way the faint light played across Ronan's features. Ronan opened his eyes and returned his gaze, heavy and quiet. Adam had never seen Ronan look so unguarded. Moments passed, and Adam thought that if time decided to stop right here, as it sometimes felt the need to do, there would be no complaints from him.

Ronan pulled quickly away, awareness flooding back into his face. He looked like he had just woken from a dream. 

So quietly that Adam almost missed it over the blood pounding through his veins, he heard Ronan swear, and though he missed the rest of the sentence, he thought he heard Ronan say, “...is real.”

A moment of silence, and then, louder and with a lot more Ronan to it—

“Sweet mother of God, Parrish, is this your usual reaction to a fight? Because, if so, I think that you and I have some serious catch-up to do.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ronan drove fast into the night, his left wrist braced on the steering wheel, his right resting on the gearshift. But unlike before, when the beat of his music had matched the erratic thud of his heart, now the music wrapped around him like comfort, folding him into a warm and peaceful embrace. His mind was quiet, his thoughts miraculously still in a way that he only ever seemed to be able to achieve in dreams and in church. 

He looked over at Adam, no longer trying to hide his gaze, only to find that Adam was already looking at him. Not in all of his dreams, not in endless nights of creation and possibility had Adam ever looked at Ronan like he was now. A twitch played across the corners of Adam's mouth, and Ronan felt like a hole had been blasted through him, as if Adam had thrown him a bomb instead of a smile. 

Every thrill that Ronan had ever chased felt like it had been nothing but a placeholder for this. Every moment before this felt like a glossy but insubstantial pretense. Ronan thought that he may never need alcohol again—the stare Adam was leveling at him was intoxicating in a way that Kavinsky would never be able to replicate with his dream drugs.

Ronan cleared his throat roughly. He was afraid that if he spoke, his words would shatter the shimmering bubble of frozen time that held him and Adam together. He was pretty sure that his voice would be uneven and raspy, and he didn't want Adam to know how quickly he had dismantled him. Ronan spent so much time building his invulnerable shell, and in two minutes Adam had crashed through it. Ronan didn't even know if he wanted it back.

Adam felt powerful in a way that had always been elusive to him. It was the kind of power that Gansey commanded so effortlessly. He thought it would come with money and success—it had never occurred to him that this was the kind of power that came to those who gave things away freely. 

Adam was surprised to find that he felt sure of himself here, in this dark car with this dark boy. He had spent so many of his precious hours wondering what he would feel, how he would act, if he gave in to the want that had been building in his blood for the past few months. Wondering if it would unravel the small progress he had made at knowing himself. Wondering if it would unravel him.

Adam knew now that the answer was that he had never felt more known. That he didn't mind being unraveled.

“What are you thinking?” He offered the question to Ronan like a gift. Ronan slid his eyes over to him, then away, and didn't immediately respond. But Adam could feel that he was merely gathering his thoughts, not retreating. Waiting, Adam reached out and placed his hand over Ronan's on the gearshift.

Ronan swallowed, glanced down at their hands, then up at Adam, then back to the road. “I'm thinking that either you or me or potentially both of us have finally lost our minds.” But he permitted the corner of his mouth to quirk into a smile, and he turned his hand palm up, allowing his fingers to lace through Adam's. 

If Adam had known before now that the secret to feeling awake with his eyes open was touching Ronan Lynch, he'd have been doing it much sooner. 

Ronan's smile was fully unfurled now, and it was so good to see Ronan Lynch happy, truly happy, that he felt an ache in his chest, a blade driving straight through his ribs. He reminded himself that this was what Ronan must have been before Niall's death. Loss for the boy Ronan had been filled him, though Adam hadn't even known him then, and Adam wanted nothing more than to make sure that this Ronan stayed. This was not a trivial night, a throwaway moment that could be taken back. Not for Ronan. Not for Adam. 

“You know, I don't think this is quite what Gansey had in mind when he asked me to keep an eye on you tonight,” Adam said.

“Fuck, Parrish. As usual, you've overachieved,” Ronan joked. “I'm fairly certain you've kept not one, but two eyes on me this entire time.” 

Adam felt a laugh bubble up from his throat, real and full and loud. Ronan looked over, reveling in the fact that he had caused this joy in Adam, and he forgot to add the customary bite to his own laugh as he joined in.

They drove and they laughed and they drank each other in and above them, storm clouds gathered slowly in the dark, holding a promise of redeeming rain, as though even the heat of the Virginia summer night could not resist giving in to the temporary kings of Henrietta.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ronan hadn't meant to drive them to the Barns. He had let the night guide him, had let his joy guide him, and it had brought them here. Of course it had. Ronan was with Adam, and Adam felt like home. 

He wasn't supposed to be here. On Gansey's long list of _Things To Not Let Ronan Do_ , this was near the top. That might have had to do with the fact that if Ronan were caught here, he would be denied his inheritance and possibly face legal consequences.

At the moment, Ronan really couldn't give a fuck. 

Ronan had parked the BMW in the driveway, but neither of them had gotten out yet. Honestly, Ronan thought it was a miracle he had gotten them here at all. Adam had let go of Ronan's hand about twenty minutes ago, to allow Ronan to shift gears, but his hand had lingered, tracing lines down Ronan's wrist, following the sharp angles of his bones, pausing at his decidedly jumpy pulse. Adam had smiled at that, and Ronan had almost driven off the road at the faint hint of pride he found in Adam's gaze. 

If Ronan had had any control over his voice at that moment, he would have sworn Adam to holy hell.

Now, parked at his childhood home, Ronan allowed himself to take Adam's hand in his. He still couldn't believe this was real, any of it. The Barns. Adam. The fact that, for the first time in recent memory, he didn't want to leave reality for his dreams. The fact that the burning self-hatred normally stored in his bones was gone. The fact that it had been replaced with a different kind of fire, and the glow from it reflected back at him from Adam's eyes. 

Ronan stared at the sharp angles cut into Adam's hands by the warm lights of the dashboard. Adam's skin was slightly rough, his fingertips callused. Ronan lightly traced one of the lines on his palm and then, nerves crashing in waves over him, he brought Adam's hand up to his lips. He kissed his palm, then his wrist, then his knuckles, and he swore he could feel the hours and days and years that Adam had worked on his skin. His hands smelled faintly of gasoline from his time at the shop earlier, and Ronan couldn't decide what was more attractive, the gasoline or the fact that Adam was the only person he knew who actually worked with his hands.

Adam had to use every single conscious thought he had left to remind himself to breathe. He had slid farther over towards Ronan sometime in the last few minutes, though he had no memory of doing so. Ronan trailed fire over his skin, a new flame kindling every place he touched his lips to. He knew that Ronan felt a particular captivation for his hands, but he could not for the life of him figure out why. In fact, Adam was quite self-conscious about his hands; they were rough and dry and he could never seem to get all the Henrietta dirt off his skin, no matter how hard he scrubbed. Adam's hands separated him instantaneously from his peers at Aglionby, a beacon that shouted _he's a fraud, he's a phony, he'll never be one of you._

Without looking up from his hand, Ronan murmured against Adam's skin, “Whatever the fuck you're worrying about right now, stop.” 

Flushing and uncurling his fingers, which is what had given him away, Adam whispered, “I'm sorry, I didn't get all the diesel off my hands after work today.” He resisted the very strong urge to pull away and tuck his hands out of sight.

Ronan looked up at him, a wolf's smile tugging at his lips, a raven's gleam in his eyes. “I know,” he said, and the way he said it left no room for Adam to wonder if it was a good thing. It very much was.

Adam felt teeth graze over his wrist, and all worry drained from his mind, dispersing into the night air. He was dragged firmly back to the present, to this second, to Ronan Lynch dragging his jagged smile over Adam's skin. Suddenly, the soft, gentle Ronan that Adam had found when he had kissed him was absent, and the familiar Ronan, pointed edges and all, was back. No, that wasn't quite right—it was more that Ronan had somehow become both at once. Adam didn't know how it was possible to be simultaneously soft and sharp, but he was sure that if anyone could find a way to do it, it was Ronan Lynch. All of a sudden, Adam wanted to find where the edges began.

Adam pulled his hand out of Ronan's possession, earning him a glare of reproach, which was quickly erased when Adam snaked his other hand around the back of Ronan's neck, brushing his fingers through Ronan's short hair. The center console was decidedly in his way, but Adam was resourceful and extremely stubborn when he set his mind on something. Angling himself carefully over it, Adam pulled Ronan to him and kissed him again.

If the first kiss had been a clear autumn night, the second kiss was a stormy summer day, full of heat and light and, somehow, the scent of dust before it rains. 

Ronan thought he might now have a pretty good idea of what an electrical surge would feel like to a power line. The tired, removed Adam that he saw most often was gone, replaced by a boy made of pure energy. He kissed Ronan with fierce presence, claiming him and shattering him and rebuilding him. Adam brought both hands up to either side of Ronan's face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, fingertips grazing his hair. Ronan broke away briefly, recapturing his breath, forcing his heart back down from his throat, and then crashed back to Adam, a wave returning to its shore. 

Ronan wrapped his hand in the collar of Adam's old t-shirt, dragging him closer, deepening the kiss. Adam tightened his grip, grasping Ronan's face with both hands. He had been deprived of affection for so long that he didn't know how to stop accepting it. He didn't want to stop accepting it. 

Ronan Lynch had finally found something to give to Adam that Adam wouldn't turn away. 

Ronan's mouth opened slightly, an invitation that Adam wasted no time responding to. He nipped Ronan's lower lip, dragging his teeth, letting his mouth quirk when he felt Ronan's hand tighten in his shirt. Adam spent his days feeling constantly insufficient, but as Ronan's breath caught and he reached up to weave his hand through Adam's hair, pulling him closer, he kept hearing Ronan's unsaid words from earlier in his mind: _you are enough, you are more than enough._ Adam, for maybe the first time in his life, felt commanding, equal, worthy.

Adam was leaning so far over towards Ronan that he was nearly kneeling on his seat. He used this slight advantage to press Ronan back, until Ronan's head fell against the leather of the seat. Brave with the knowledge that Ronan had been his for months, he swung his knee over the center console, over to the other side of Ronan. In his mind, the movement was fluid and seductive, but he had forgotten to account for the steering wheel, which caught his hip hard enough that he knew he would have a bruise there later. 

He swore softly into Ronan's mouth. Ronan laughed roughly and pulled away. “Smooth, Parrish.” But Adam could see the true effect he had had on Ronan in his blown-out pupils, in the hand still grasped at his chest. Ronan's gaze was raw and burning underneath his amusement, and Adam was crazy with the knowledge that he had caused it. 

“Shut up, Lynch,” Adam grumbled at him, his accent seeping into his words. Adam held his accent on a tightly-wound leash; he only slipped up when he was distracted. Adam thought it gave him away. Ronan thought so too, but not in the way Adam assumed. 

Ronan loved many things about Adam. His accent was decidedly one of them.

“Make me,” Ronan shot back, the words dripping with challenge. Throwing him a grin that effectively emptied Ronan's head of all rational thought, Adam leaned forward to oblige. When Adam kissed him again, Ronan felt the last of his armor-plated resolve fall away. He was home, and he was kissing Adam, and somehow, these two things were the same. 

He wasn't quite sure how he was still contained within his skin. By all rights, he should have already ignited and consumed them both. 

Ronan was adrift in the flood of light that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach, absurdly happy. He felt nothing like the shell of a creature he had been after his father's death, after his eviction from the Barns. Months of taking things out of his dreams had taught him how to truly understand the being of things, and so Ronan found that he had already committed the feeling of kissing Adam to his memory. 

Ronan was jarred back to reality when Adam moved himself closer, kissing him with a fervor that Ronan had previously only ascribed to hurricanes and dead Welsh kings. Adam's mouth opened and Ronan, who was quickly leaving thoughts of his childhood behind, responded in kind. He pushed Adam back until Adam was up against the steering wheel, moving his hands from Adam's hair to his waist. He traced his tongue along the inside edge of Adam's top lip, and felt a surge of longing and something that felt suspiciously like smugness when Adam's breath quickened.

Ronan could feel how the energy in the car had changed from playful to something else. He wanted to know what Adam looked like unwound, what he looked like when he surrendered control. With a devious smile, Ronan put his hands on Adam's hips and turned his mouth, kissing slowly down Adam's jawline. He toyed with the edges of Adam's shirt, brushing it up an inch, playing his fingers over the bare skin it revealed. His mouth moved down Adam's neck, and Adam closed his eyes and tipped his head back, giving Ronan more access to his throat. Adam's breath was rough and ragged, one of his hands sliding around Ronan's shoulder to his back. 

Ronan, thoroughly enjoying his game, paused just below the place Adam's jaw met his ear. After pressing his lips there, he smiled slightly and then drew his teeth very deliberately along Adam's skin, and was extremely gratified when Adam inhaled sharply and curled his fingers into Ronan's shirt. Ronan slid his hands further under Adam's shirt, dancing up to Adam's ribs, memorizing the ridges and valleys that made up Adam Parrish.

After ensuring that Adam would have a mark to show for Ronan's effort under his jaw, Ronan returned to Adam's mouth, pulling Adam's lower lip between his own, teasing and playing before fully kissing him. After making sure Adam was thoroughly occupied, Ronan ran his hands back down to Adam's hips and pulled.

This had precisely the effect Ronan had intended on Adam, who arched against Ronan and breathed a low groan against Ronan's mouth. The sound, combined with the particular angle Adam sat against him, distracted Ronan from his taunting, and he moved his own hips up. 

“Fuck, Ronan,” Adam muttered, and, just like that, Ronan was no longer in control. 

Adam, his thoughts bouncing hectically between Ronan's hands, Ronan's mouth, and Ronan's hips—God, Ronan's _hips_ \--placed his hands flat against Ronan's chest and shoved, pushing Ronan back into his seat. Adam paused there for a moment, collecting himself, and met Ronan's eyes. He was glad to see that Ronan was breathing as hard as he was, his ribs rising and falling forcefully beneath Adam's palms. Ronan's gaze was dark and wild, and Adam felt destroyed.

Staring straight at Ronan with a small smirk on his face, Adam rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, and it was no longer just Ronan's game to play. 

Ronan tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and groaned. “Adam,” he breathed. Hearing what he did to Ronan, hearing his name spoken like both a curse and a plea, sent Adam into disarray. He wanted nothing more than to hear Ronan say his name enough times that it drowned out every feeling of inadequacy Adam had ever clung to. 

Leaning forward, Adam let his forehead rest against Ronan's, the two of them sharing the same breath. Quietly, but not self-consciously, Adam said, “I think that this car is a little bit too small for what I have in mind.”

Ronan's eyebrows lifted and his mouth tilted into a crooked smile. “Eager, are we, Parrish?”

Smiling fiendishly, Adam rocked himself forward again, pressing himself into Ronan. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, and he could feel Ronan in a similar state below him. Ronan closed his eyes, swallowing hard and swearing. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that last bit?” Adam taunted. 

Ronan's eyes were still closed. “Fuck you, Adam,” he said, his voice low and rough, and again Adam was overcome by his name on Ronan's lips. 

“Maybe someday, if you're lucky,” Adam said, surprising even himself with his boldness. Ronan brought out an entirely different side to him. Adam found that he liked being reckless and impulsive—it chased away the weariness of the world that stood on his shoulders, and let him be a teenage boy again. 

Ronan's eyes had opened in shock, and he was staring at Adam now, his expression inscrutable. Adam felt suddenly unsure, wondering if he had gone too far. He started to pull away, only to find Ronan dragging him back.

“I think this car is perfectly fucking adequate,” Ronan said, and then he was kissing Adam and his hands were pulling on the hem of Adam's shirt and Adam found himself raising his arms, allowing Ronan to pull the shirt impatiently over his head, tossing it over his shoulder, and then they were kissing again and it was frenzy and hunger and every look that had ever passed between them, made real. 

Adam thought that it was distinctly unfair that he had his shirt off and Ronan did not. He pulled back, not allowing the kiss to break, and his hands scrabbled beneath Ronan's tee. He lingered for a moment on Ronan's stomach, then moved up to his chest. Smiling into Ronan's lips, he drew his nails down Ronan's skin. Ronan swore quietly, and Adam wrapped his hands in the bottom of Ronan's shirt, pulling it over Ronan's head and throwing it to join his own in the backseat. 

For a moment, Adam allowed himself to simply look at Ronan, tracing his eyes from the hollow of Ronan's throat to the sharp edge of his collarbone, down over the lines of his ribs, lower to Ronan's stomach, heaving slightly with his breath, resting finally on Ronan's hip bones where they jutted out above his low-slung jeans. 

“Fuck, Lynch. You're even paler than I thought you were,” Adam said, grinning. He ran his finger lightly across Ronan's skin, enjoying the shiver that he saw go up Ronan's spine. 

“Parrish, you're going to be the death of me,” Ronan growled, before surging up to kiss Adam. They were pressed together from hip to throat, all skin on skin, a tangle of hands and breaths and desires.

It was more than Ronan had ever dreamed of, and it was more than Adam had ever guessed could be his, and, _God,_ it wasn't enough. 

Above them, unnoticed by either Ronan or Adam, the clouds had gathered and multiplied, scraping so low over them that it felt like the trees would tear a hole in their belly. With a loud crack of thunder, they opened up, releasing heavy rain into the night. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside the car, the sudden pounding of the rain on the roof broke the kiss. Adam, could feel Ronan's breath on his bruised cheek. He looked out the window, watching the sudden downpour soak the fields. 

Ronan laughed, an open and free sound that Adam stored away in his mind to think over later. “Well I'll be damned, Noah _is_ a fucking weather vane.” He was quiet a moment, watching the streaks of water running down the windshield, absently brushing his thumb across Adam's collarbone. Adam had never seen Ronan so content.

Inwardly, Adam sighed. It was unbelievable seeing Ronan like this, but he thought that the intensity of the previous moment had been lost too soon for his taste.

Looking back to Adam, Ronan's features returned to mischievous amusement. “If you think a little rain is gonna stop this here, Parrish, you're not as fucking smart as I thought you were. I think this car is a little too small for what I want to do to you, after all. Get out.” A rush of pure heat settled straight down to the bottom of Adam's stomach. Reaching over, Ronan swung the door open, then slid sideways so he could push Adam out of the car. Adam, relieved to know that the night wasn't over, stumbled willingly out into the rain. 

The drops were warm against his bare skin, but the rain had cut through the oppressive heat that had suffocated Henrietta for the past two weeks. Adam, his jeans already soaked, closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sky. 

He could almost feel the rain dissolving the stains of his failings, the smudges of his shortcomings, the scars of his weakness—all washing away to be lost in the Henrietta mud.

Momentarily distracted, Adam opened his eyes with a jolt when Ronan, who had gotten out of the car right after him, grabbed his shoulders and threw him up against side of the BMW. He placed his palms flat on either side of Adam's head and stepped forward, effectively boxing Adam in. Rivulets of water ran down the planes of Ronan's bare torso, gathering in the hollows of his collarbones. Adam could see the drops caught on Ronan's eyelashes. The predator's gleam was back in Ronan's eye, and, _shit,_ Adam realized he was the prey. 

With a wicked smile, Ronan leaned over, recapturing Adam's mouth with his own, and it was impossible that this was the same creature who had been staring contentedly out at the rain moments ago. This was a Ronan made of flame, made of light, made of heat. Adam suddenly had no problem believing that Ronan could demand his dreams to surrender their gifts to him and they would comply. Adam found that he, too, was doing that very thing, right here, right now—giving himself freely, completely, to a dreamer.

Adam couldn't catch his breath, and found that he didn't particularly care about breathing anymore. 

Sliding his hands over Ronan's sides, Adam pulled him closer, and Ronan obediently stepped forward again, this time sliding his leg between Adam's, shifting until Adam could feel Ronan's thigh grinding up against him. Adam groaned out loud, the sound only slightly lost in the pounding of the rain. He was hard now, and, from where Ronan was pressed against Adam's thigh, he could tell he wasn't the only one. 

Adam arched into Ronan, the friction a welcome relief from the tension that had been building up in the car, allowing a strangled gasp to escape him. Ronan broke the kiss, looking down at Adam, rain dripping off the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “I want to hear you make that noise for the rest of my fucking life,” he said. 

The words rose like a challenge in Adam's chest. “Say please,” he told Ronan, and then shifted his own thigh to grind against Ronan's cock. Ronan's head dropped between his arms. “Fuck, Adam,” he groaned, and then leaned forward to hide the noise in Adam's neck, biting at his previous mark. Adam's head rocked back, hitting the car with a not-unpleasant impact. 

“No, I want you here,” Adam said after a moment, grabbing Ronan's head with both hands and pulling his face back up. “I want to see you.” He rolled his hips against Ronan, and Ronan kissed him, panting into Adam's mouth. 

“You know, as pleasant as this is,” Adam began after a few moments, forcing his voice to stay steady as Ronan moved against him, “I didn't really picture being shoved against the BMW in the rain when we did this.” 

Ronan raised his eyebrows, and then returned to Adam's neck. “You pictured this happening, huh?” he asked between kisses. Adam could hear the pleasure and satisfaction in Ronan's voice. 

“You think I didn't see the way you looked at me? You think I didn't know? You're not the only one who dreams, Ronan,” Adam said, thrusting slowly against Ronan's hips. 

Ronan hummed against Adam's throat, a sound of pure surrender, and then pushed himself off the car, pulling Adam with him. He wrapped himself around Adam, their bodies flush from thigh to chest, and it was a wonder that the rain somehow survived the contact with their burning skin. Ronan's hand threaded through Adam's hair, and he pulled, hard enough to hear Adam gasp as his head tilted back. Ronan couldn't remember ever being so worked up. He couldn't stand it. He needed Adam, had never needed anything more. 

“Get in the fucking house, Parrish,” Ronan growled, his voice tight around the breath rushing from his lungs. 

They stumbled through the rain towards the front door, legs tangling together and almost tripping them. Adam's hands were wrapped around Ronan's back, Ronan's hands tangled in Adam's hair. They were too hungry to stop kissing, too distracted to be careful about where they were going. 

When they got to the front steps, Ronan grabbed Adam's legs behind the knees and lifted him, pulling Adam's legs around his waist, and Adam's stomach lurched as he wrapped his arms around Ronan's neck, an unbelievable combination of arousal and surprise. Ronan climbed the steps, deceptively strong, and for the second time that night, Adam found his back meeting a solid object: this time, the front door. 

Not letting Adam down, Ronan fumbled in his pocket for his keys, his mouth moving across Adam's jaw, tasting the rain on Adam's skin. He drew the key ring out, and, through touch alone, found the one for the house, the shape of it so familiar it felt like an extension of him. It took him an annoyingly long time to fit the key in the lock, and he turned his face away from Adam to focus on it. “Son of a bitch,” he snarled. Then the lock was turning, the door was swinging open, and Ronan was home. 

Ronan returned to kissing Adam, kicking the front door closed behind him. He followed the dark hallway back, navigating through pure muscle memory. His bedroom was upstairs, but it had taken all of his strength to even get them into the house, and his arms were shaking with the effort. 

Adam tightened his legs around Ronan's waist, their hips lining up almost too perfectly for a brief moment. “Put me down, Lynch,” Adam forced out with a rough breath. “I am capable of walking, you know.”

Ronan grinned as he set Adam down at the base of the staircase. “Not when I'm done with you,” he said, moving forward and forcing Adam up the stairs. The look Adam leveled at him was pure lust, so foreign in this reality that Ronan's breath caught. 

At the top of the stairs, Ronan grabbed Adam around the waist, crashing back against him, kissing him hard. They staggered down the hallway, bumping into walls and not caring in the slightest. It turned out that neither of them were made of glass, a conclusion that stunned them both. 

Ronan's room was at the end of the hall, door slightly ajar. He couldn't even be bothered to appreciate that this was the first time he was back in his room since his father had died. He would return to that particular train of thought later. There were more important things to focus on right now.

Adam wanted to see what Ronan's room looked like, what oddities it must contain, but he was far too engrossed by Ronan's tongue drawing patterns over his throat. Adam thought briefly of the marks that Ronan was undoubtedly leaving on him, waiting for the embarrassment to set in, but it didn't. Adam found that he rather liked the idea of being claimed by Ronan Lynch. 

Ronan thought that Adam Parrish's skin could use some bruises made of love for a change.

Moving further into the room, the backs of Adam's legs met an edge, which turned out to be Ronan's bed. _Holy god, Ronan's bed._ Adam couldn't believe that five hours ago he had been at work. Three hours ago he had been at Monmouth. One hour ago he had decided to kiss Ronan Lynch. He had never expected to end up here. 

As Ronan pushed them both back onto the bed, he was so, so very glad he had. 

Ronan was on top of Adam, and Ronan's hips straddling his own were driving Adam insane. Ronan reached up, pulling Adam's hands above his head, pinning them to the bed. He laced their fingers together and hovered over Adam for a moment. “You know, if I'd thought you would be so easy to get into bed, Parrish, I would have done this ages ago,” Ronan teased. 

“If I'd thought you would be so eager, I would have let you,” Adam replied, which only caused Ronan to smile more. He leaned down, kissing Adam's lips, moving down his neck, down his chest, biting as he went. Adam wanted to press a hand to his mouth to stop the small noises that were betraying him, but Ronan still had him pinned. Adam didn't know how long he could stand this. 

“For the love of God,” Adam growled, hips bucking up to Ronan, “are you just going to tease all night?” He hated sounding so desperate, so desirous, but this was Ronan, and Adam had waited long enough. Even he hadn't known how long he had wanted this until this very moment.

Ronan flashed a smile at him from one of Adam's ribs, and for once didn't throw a retort back. Instead, he moved back up to kiss Adam, drawing it out in a filthy way that told Adam what words couldn't. Ronan kept the fingers of his left hand laced with Adam's above his head, but disentangled his right hand and began dragging his fingers down Adam's arm, his fingernails grazing the skin. Adam thought of the light scratches he had left on Ronan's chest earlier and knew Ronan was thinking of it too, returning the favor. 

Ronan's hand paused at the back of Adam's neck and tightened, forcing Adam to tilt his chin up, deepening the kiss. After enjoying this for a moment, Ronan continued on, skimming down Adam's chest, fitting his fingers against Adam's ribs. Adam brought his free hand up to Ronan's face, cupping his jaw as Ronan's hand drifted downwards, tortuously slow, brushing the skin just above the top of Adam's jeans. 

Adam's hips jerked up, searching for contact. Ronan smiled against his lips and then murmured, “Easy, Adam. All in good time.” Adam growled in frustration, and Ronan's right hand pushed his hips back down. Returning to his previous spot of attention, Ronan hooked his fingers under Adam's waistband. God, he was so close, so close to where Adam needed him. Feeling Adam's agitation, Ronan withdrew his hand. Bastard. 

“Dammit, Ronan, get on with it,” Adam panted. 

Smugness rolled off Ronan in waves. “I'm looking for one specific word, Parrish.”

“Fuck you.”

Ronan pretended to consider, then said, “That's two words, and neither of them were what I was looking for.” He ground his hips against Adam, eliciting a low moan. 

“Please, Ronan,” Adam said, the words falling from his lips unwillingly. “Please.”

Ronan hissed in a breath, then said, “Fuck, Adam, that was even hotter than I thought it would be,” and his mouth was on Adam's again and the hand still holding Adam's was tightening around his fingers and finally, finally, the heel of Ronan's hand was sliding down over Adam's jeans to grind against him. 

Adam angled himself into the touch, a strangled sound escaping from his throat. “Oh, God, Ronan,” he exhaled, and Ronan increased the pressure, wrapping his hand around Adam's cock through the denim, sliding his palm up and down. Adam threw his head back, waves of sensation rolling through him, and Ronan stole the opportunity to lay kisses down his neck. 

Ronan removed his hand and Adam groaned, but Ronan had merely moved up to Adam's belt, fumbling to undo it with one hand. Ronan moved back up to rest his forehead against Adam's while he worked, and the look on his face was absurdly indecent, enjoying Adam's desperation more than Adam thought he had any right to. 

Then Ronan had the buckle loose, and he was tugging on the belt. Adam pushed his hips off the bed, allowing the belt to slither through the loops, and enjoyed the added bonus of feeling Ronan's cock pressed against his. Ronan breathed an elaborate swear onto Adam's lips, and it was gratifying to know Ronan was as turned on as he was. Adam would deal with that later. 

Ronan unbuttoned Adam's jeans and slid the zipper down, and Adam didn't realize how uncomfortable the rain-soaked denim had been against him until it was gone. Ronan dragged the jeans down Adam's hip a few inches, just enough so that he could fit his hand inside and then, _fuck,_ his hand was on Adam and Adam's spine was arching and he was throwing his head back into the sheets, Ronan's name spilling from his tongue like an oath, like a prayer, like a promise. 

Ronan twisted his hand over Adam's cock, languorously slow. “Is this what you wanted, Adam?” he taunted, the effect slightly lessened by his own ragged breathing. His palm slid back down to the base, curling around Adam as he moved back up, his pace still agonizingly restrained. 

Adam waited until he could speak without gasping, and then said, “If you don't go fucking faster, Lynch, I'll— _fuck._ ” The end of his sentence was cut off by a muffled groan as Ronan sped up.

“All you had to do was ask, Parrish,” Ronan said with smirk.

“You son of a bitch,” Adam said with distracted fondness. He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip to stop another sound as Ronan rubbed his thumb back and forth over the head of Adam's dick. 

“Don't,” Ronan said in a low, open voice, no longer joking. “I want to hear you.”

Adam opened his eyes and Ronan was looking down at him, all teasing gone. Adam thought about how this must feel for Ronan, whose feelings had been unsaid for months. Adam hadn't known what he'd been missing. Ronan, on the other hand, looked every day at something he thought he would never have, and it was clear that he didn't want to stop looking now that it was in front of him. 

Ronan's hand found a steady rhythm on Adam, and Adam forced himself to keep his eyes open, looking back at Ronan, letting Ronan see what he was doing to Adam, how close Adam was. He could see that Ronan still wasn't sure if this was real, that he couldn't quite let himself believe it. 

Adam wanted him to believe it. Adam wanted him to know he wasn't dreaming this time. 

It took every ounce of self-control Adam had left to bring his free hand down to grab Ronan's wrist and pull him away, stifling a frustrated moan as Ronan's hand left him. Ronan's other hand was still holding Adam's loosely above his head, but Ronan hadn't been expecting resistance, and his grip was easy to escape. Adam saw Ronan's brow furrow in confusion before Adam grabbed Ronan's hips, wrapped his leg around Ronan's, and flipped him onto his back.

Ronan felt his breath forced from his lungs as he found Adam suddenly on top of him, his eyes bright and his breath uneven. “Not yet,” Adam said, and Ronan was satisfied to hear the rasp in his voice. “You first. You've waited long enough. ” Ronan felt a thrill of anticipation roll up his spine at the words, and he noticed abruptly just how uncomfortably hard he was. 

He thought in that moment that if Adam ever decided he wanted to take over the world, he would find that the world would bend surprisingly easily under his will. 

Adam leaned over to kiss Ronan, and the kiss was forceful and suggestive. Ronan felt every single day that he had longed for Adam in it. He reached up and tangled both hands into Adam's hair, pulling him closer. Adam kept one hand braced on the bed by Ronan's ear, bringing the other one to rest on Ronan's jaw. 

Adam broke away, and Ronan drew a deep breath in as Adam kissed his way along Ronan's jaw, pausing by his ear to whisper, “Did you think I was just going to sit back and let you have all the fun?” before nipping at his earlobe and kissing down his throat. 

Ronan let loose a shaky laugh. “I was pretty sure you _were_ having fun, Parrish.” 

Adam smiled and gazed up at him through his eyelashes. “Oh, I was...but I think this might be more fun.” His tone was vaguely threatening. 

Ronan thought that Adam was a beautiful, terrible creature when he was no longer giving power away. 

Adam sat up, straddling Ronan's legs, looking down at him. His gaze was steady and warm, and Ronan still couldn't believe that there wasn't a hint of hesitation, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Ronan noticed a spray of freckles that stretched over Adam's shoulders where once the sun had kissed them too fiercely. That this beautiful, dusty boy wanted Ronan Lynch was the strangest magic of all.

Ronan's train of thought was abruptly derailed as Adam rolled his hips over Ronan, the friction aching against Ronan's cock. He clawed his fists into the sheets, clenching his jaw against a sound that he was sure would have been embarrassing. Adam, though, was unsatisfied with this. “What, you're allowed to be silent? I hardly think that's fair,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes as he rocked harder against Ronan. A low vibration started in Ronan's throat, clawing its way out, before emerging louder than Ronan meant it to.

“Hmmm, there we go,” Adam said softly. “Much better.” 

Adam ran his hands down Ronan's chest, his eyes never moving from Ronan's. “I've thought of doing this,” he said. His hands moved lower, grazing the sharp angles of Ronan's hipbones. “I've thought of doing this,” he repeated. He moved to the waist of Ronan's dark jeans, sitting below his hips. “I've thought about tearing these fucking expensive jeans to ribbons,” he said. Shit, Ronan didn't care if Adam destroyed his whole wardrobe, as long as he kept talking. As long as he kept moving. 

Adam's hands were still playing along Ronan's hips. “Fuck, Adam,” Ronan said. His heartbeat was shredding his breath into pieces. “Please.” Ronan didn't hide the desire in his voice. They were well past lies at this point, even unspoken ones. 

“Please what, Ronan?” Adam asked, deftly unfastening the button of Ronan's jeans. He didn't ask in a taunting way, but in a way that suggested he simply wanted to hear the answer out loud. 

“You know what the fuck I want,” Ronan growled. He would be damned if Adam would have him begging so soon.

Adam let a slow smile grace his lips, sliding the zipper of Ronan's jeans down. “Yeah, I reckon I do,” he said, and, with more force than Ronan expected, Adam looped his fingers through the belt loops and jerked them down off Ronan's hips. 

Ronan felt vulnerable in a way that he had expressly avoided for most of his life, but he did not look away from Adam as Adam took Ronan in his hand, curling his exquisite fingers around the base of Ronan's cock. Ronan had imagined Adam's hands more than anything else, and he had to force himself not to rock up into the touch. Thoughts fell away from him to land in piles on the sheets.

Just as he collected the pieces of himself and started putting them back together into something that slightly resembled a human boy, Adam started sliding his hand back up, rolling over the top and back down, all excruciatingly slow. Ronan barked a harsh laugh, remembering his own torturing pace a few minutes ago. “Payback, Parrish?” he asked. “You're usually above such petty shit.” He hissed his breath back in as Adam's grip tightened. 

Adam smiled wider. “Just wanted to see if you'd beg, Lynch.” He sped up slightly, pumping for a few seconds, and then slowed to a near stop. 

“Fuck, Adam,” Ronan gasped. “I'm not that easy.” 

Adam merely hummed low in his throat, an unsaid _we'll see_ hanging in the air, and then let go entirely, moving his hands up to Ronan's stomach, rubbing slow circles in the hollows of Ronan's hip bones. Ronan was losing his conviction, nearly telling Adam exactly what he wanted, but just as he was about to whisper a plea, Adam moved down Ronan's body to kneel between his knees, his hands resting on Ronan's thighs, laying kisses on each of Ronan's ribs as he went. Ronan could feel his mouth going lower, could feel his hot breath on his skin. 

“Jesus, Parrish. What are you—” Ronan began, sitting up slightly to rest on his elbows. 

“You're too fucking stubborn,” Adam said, and then his mouth was on him. 

“Oh, God, Adam,” Ronan said, his voice coming out strained as he rolled his head back to hang between his shoulders. “Sweet merciful fuck.” Ronan's hips rolled up involuntarily, and Adam pressed him back into the bed, holding Ronan down as he rolled his tongue over him. Ronan collapsed back down, throwing one hand out to clutch the sheet, turning his face into his arm.

Adam was in emphatically unfamiliar territory, but what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. He found that he loved watching Ronan come apart at the seams—he loved being the reason, the cause. Ronan Lynch was a beautiful thing, undone. Adam never did something halfway, and he wasn't about to start now. He licked a slow path from the base of Ronan's cock to the tip, pressing his tongue just below the head, then circled for a moment before wrapping his mouth around Ronan. 

Above him, he heard a continuous stream of swear words and groans as he took more and more of Ronan into his mouth, increasing his pace. Letting go of one of Ronan's hips, he wrapped his hand around the part of Ronan that wasn't in his mouth, moving and twisting as he went. Ronan shook under him, rolling slightly with Adam. 

Adam moved his other hand up Ronan's stomach, and Ronan reached down to grasp his arm, an anchor to reality for both of them.

“Adam,” Ronan gasped, and Adam glanced up to find Ronan's head tilted back, his neck tense, a forearm thrown over his eyes. “Fuck, Adam. Please, God, don't stop.” 

Adam, making a fast decision, pushed down, taking as much of Ronan as he could. He had to fight momentarily as a low shout was forced roughly from Ronan's throat and his hips bucked up, but Adam adjusted quickly. Adam jumped slightly as Ronan's nails dug into his arm, hard, and then Ronan was coming, gasping and jerking. Adam pulled up, swallowing at the same time. He was a bit sloppy, but he was fairly certain Ronan didn't care. Adam looked up to find Ronan looking at him, a glazed look in his eyes, still quaking slightly. 

“Were you trying to make me bleed, Lynch?” Adam said, amused, examining the long red scratches Ronan had left on his arm. 

Ronan's breath was still uneven as he replied, “I don't know, Parrish. Were you trying to kill me? Because I think that makes us even.” 

Adam grinned, about to say something else, but then Ronan had surged up to meet him, pushing him back into the bed. Capturing Adam's lips in a feverish kiss, he snaked his hand down to grab Adam's still hard cock, and Adam was very efficiently reminded that he had stopped Ronan before he could get off. Ronan was not rough, but he was not gentle, either; the time for teasing was over. 

Adam tried to catch his breath between gasps, but it only took a few moments before he was losing himself too, jerking up into Ronan's hand. He felt his spine arch and a strangled cry fall from his lips as he rode out the waves of pleasure moving through him. 

After a moment, he felt Ronan collapse next to him, their shoulders touching, both taking the opportunity to regain control of their lungs. Adam opened his eyes to look at Ronan, and Ronan turned his head to look back. 

Ronan flashed him a smile, all teeth. “Okay, I changed my mind. _Now_ we're fucking even.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The late night hours passed in hazy company, the kind that only comes after things change irrevocably. Ronan and Adam were a tangle of limbs, sprawled on Ronan's childhood bed, and Ronan kissed the freckles on Adam's skin, and Adam traced the lines of Ronan's tattoo with gentle fingers. 

“You know, for a good Catholic boy, you sure take the Lord's name in vain a lot,” Adam said.

Ronan laughed low in his throat and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I'm sure of all the things that we just did, my use of His name is really what God is going to be mad about,” he replied, then fondly added, “Asshole.”

Adam, his head resting beneath Ronan's jaw, finally took in Ronan's room. It was as lovely and strange and elegant and threatening as the boy beside him. “How many of these things came from your dreams?” he asked Ronan. 

Ronan glanced around, eyes resting on certain objects in particular, and then he said, “I think most of them. It was always hard to tell, when I was young. I didn't know I was doing it. I thought my dad would leave things in my room while I slept.”

Adam could hear the pain in Ronan's voice when he spoke of his father. They had led such different lives: Ronan, a boy born into love just to have it stolen from him; Adam, a boy who didn't think he deserved anything but hate and anger. And yet, in their own ways, they had ended up in the same place—orphans, cast adrift to find themselves. 

“Tell me about the Barns,” Adam said quietly. 

Ronan was silent for a moment, and then he began. 

“When I was seven, my dad built a treehouse in the beech tree out back. From the ground, it looked like the entire thing was about to come crashing down, because it was perched on only one branch, high up in the tree. There was this staircase spiraling around the trunk up to it. I remember being afraid to go up, but my mom laughed and told me that they would never let me do anything dangerous, that it was perfectly safe. So I climbed up the stairs, and at the top I looked down to find my dad with his arms wrapped around my mom, and both of them were laughing, and the afternoon was glowing and warm and nothing could ever go wrong in the world.”

His voice was low, memories softening all the edges.

“It must have been another dream creation, I know that now. There's no other way it would have stayed in that damn tree. When I went in, it smelled like the way sunshine feels, and there were birds everywhere, nesting and flying around and singing. From the window, the fields stretched out to a distance I thought must be infinite, and I remember thinking that God had outdone himself when making such a painfully beautiful color of green. Declan and Matthew came up and we stayed there all afternoon, only coming down when Mom threatened not to feed us if we missed dinner.” 

Adam shifted against Ronan's shoulder to look at him, only to find Ronan's eyes closed, a wistful smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Adam let himself imagine, for just a moment, growing up here. Spending lazy days lying in the sun, running through the fields. Coming home to parents who loved him. Never having to come up with transparent excuses for his bruises and broken bones, because he had gained them the way a child normally does. 

Adam was filled with loss for a childhood he never had. And then, stronger, he was filled with loss for Ronan's, crueler because he had had it and lost it. But then he surrendered his thoughts to a future in which, if he was lucky, they could both find their peace.

“Tell me more,” he said, and he closed his eyes, comforted by the vibrations of Ronan's voice beneath his cheek.

Ronan felt Adam's eyelashes brush his throat, and, opening his own eyes, he began to tell stories of light, of laughter, of love. He told stories of a charming, devilish man who took objects from his dreams, of a woman with a laugh like sunshine, and how their love had filled these rolling hills, overflowing and nourishing the land like water. He told stories of three boys who had been brothers before they had been enemies, who had chased their dreams into the fields together, and how the stars had seemed so close that they could reach out and run their fingers through them like sand. He told stories of crowded kitchens and noisy meals and nights so quiet that, surely, when they awoke, they would be the only ones left in the world, and it would be enough. 

He talked long after he felt Adam drift off. He talked until the horizon out the window began to lighten, until he could see the faint outlines of the barns that gave his home its name. He talked until his words started to fill up the jagged hole in his chest that had been consuming him since his father's murder, since his mother had become a shell of a dream, since his family had fractured so perfectly down the middle that the break was all the more permanent for its symmetry. Slowly, as he laid next to the boy he loved, the boy who loved him back, Ronan felt himself let go of the pain and the anger. He felt himself return home.

And then, as the sun broke over the horizon, dancing across Adam's skin and gilding the tips of Adam's eyelashes in gold, Ronan pulled Adam closer to him, closed his eyes, and, finally, finally, he began to dream.


End file.
